Missing Presumed Lost

by Fred Lockwood

  It was unfortunate that Jim was a perfectionist. The pumps that Moffat & Co. produced had the best designs, the best materials, were high quality but over-engineered. In the late sixties and early seventies, he couldn't compete with Honda and Yamaha. He abandoned small pumps and generators and concentrated on high quality, high performance irrigation systems, naval and public service pumps. The water cannon was made at the peak of the business. It may be forty plus years old but once he had refurbished it he knew it would perform as well as the day it was made.

  Shaun carried the tool boxes back towards the main entrance and stopped by the desk; the young man was still slouched in the same position. This time he looked up as Shaun approached.

  ‘I'm interested in the diesel engine and pump in the far corner next door,’ he said.

  The young man, reluctantly, dropped his magazine on the well-worn desk, pulled out his ear pieces, stood and walked towards the shed containing all the pumps. He could obviously see where Shaun had cleared a space and uncovered the engine and pump that crouched in the corner. He gave what appeared to be a cursory glance and in what sounded like an American cowboy accent said:

  ‘One thousand American dollars, take it or leave it.’

  Shaun couldn't suppress a laugh and ongoing chuckle. He shook his head in disbelief.

  ‘That kit is over forty-years-old. I can buy a brand new pump for a thousand dollars,’ replied Shaun.

  ’Yer don't wanna pay, then fuck off,’ challenged the young man with a smirk on his face.

  A ramrod straight right arm shot out and a hand grabbed the jacket collar around the young man's neck. The hand clenched into a fist, twisted and pulled the man forwards. Shaun and the young man were face to face. Shaun's left hand slammed into the man's groin, grabbed his balls and with both arms lifted him off his feet.

  Shaun’s wild eyes bulged as he stared into the shocked face before him. In a tone of only just controlled fury Shaun spoke slowly into the man’s face:

  ‘Do… not… swear… at… me. Do… you… understand?’ he asked.

  The contorted face in front of Shaun had lost all of its colour. He was struggling to breathe.

  ‘Do… you… understand?’ repeated Shaun.

  The head in front of him started to nod vigorously. The expression on Shaun's face changed immediately. He broke into a smile as he gently lowered the man to the ground and released his two-handed grip. As the man stood, almost frozen Shaun spoke again as he theatrically smoothed the lapels and flicked imaginary dirt or fluff from the shoulders and front of the jacket.

  ‘That's better… we understand each other… we can now negotiate in a civilized way. Let me tell you about this kit. The engine has a soft or cracked valve spring and bent valve. The piston is either cracked or worse and jammed in the cylinder. The engine is seized. I reckon this is why whoever owned it sold it to you. If I can clear the piston I will have to rebore the block and fit oversized pistons.

  ‘The water pump hasn't worked in twenty or more years. Just look at the hoses. They have been here so long they are all perished; they’re scrap. The only bits worth keeping are the connecting clamps. I've had the inlet manifold off but can't turn the impeller. If they didn't flood the whole system with inhibitor the whole thing is rusted solid. No one will ever move it and so it's not worth a thousand dollars. Give me a realistic price.’

  The man had regained some of his composure and was slowly rubbing his groin but still looked pale.

  ‘Six hundred dollars, you can fix,’ he replied.

  Shaun cupped his chin in his hand and massaged his jaw as though pondering the offer.

  ‘Because I like you I will give you five hundred dollars, cash, for the engine, pump and other bits and pieces. I don't want the hoses ’cos I reckon they’re finished but I'll take the clamps,’ he offered with an outstretched hand.

  The man was obviously reluctant to make contact with the hand but was keen to get Shaun out of the building as soon as possible. With the two barely touching he said 'fine' and backed away. Shaun smiled as he loosened his broad leather belt and eased it away from his waist. He wriggled his fingers into a fold of material and withdrew five one hundred dollar notes that were folded lengthwise. They had been in his belt so long they retained the curve of Shaun's waist. Carefully he unfolded the notes and spread them, fan-like, in his hand before handing them over.

  A winch attached to an engine hoist lifted the engine, radiators and pump from the ground, and trundled them across the store to the waiting pickup. Shaun thought the ageing springs could just about manage the weight. With a hack saw he cut the connecting clamps off the most perished hoses and put them in the sack along with the priming handle and keys. More to wedge the engine and pump, Shaun decided to take four of the coils. He selected the ones that looked in the best condition.

  He drove back to the docks gingerly. Each time Shaun took a corner the whole pickup leaned with the weight and slowly came back. He crawled along with the hazard lights flashing but did make the dock without incident. Kev was on the deck of the Sultano and heard the pickup approach. As Shaun emerged from the cab Kev shouted down.

  ‘What load of junk have you got there?’ he asked with a broad grin.

  ‘Wash your mouth out and then come, see and learn,’ Shaun replied with a pride that was obvious.

  Kev had alerted Patrick to Shaun's arrival and they trooped down the walkway to the dockside.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Kev.

  Shaun had clambered onto the back of the pickup and stood as though addressing an audience. He placed his hand, almost lovingly, on the diesel engine and used his other to introduce his acquisition.

  ‘This, my friends, is a Moffat & Co. water cannon. This six-cylinder slave engine will provide massive torque to this multi-impeller water pump. Through a six-inch hose this little baby will deliver four thousand five hundred gallons of sea water per minute. That's over twenty-six cubic yards of water – over twenty cubic metres – through this manually operated nozzle. This cannon was state of the art when the Sultano was commissioned. When I've got it working it will send a jet of water sixty to seventy yards or more.’

  Shaun stopped speaking and ended with an exaggerated bow.

  'Where did you get it?' asked Patrick.

  ‘So, it doesn't actually work,’ joked Kev as he moved to the side of the pickup for a clearer view.

  ‘OK, it doesn't work at the moment but it will. I've got a Makita three-inch petrol driven pump just here. It will shift a thousand litres or a cubic metre of sea water a minute. It's the best I've been able to find. If we can get the gunnels just above the water line the Makita should be able to pump it out. However, when I get this baby working, she will move twenty times that amount,’ he added.

  ‘What did it cost?’ asked Patrick.

  ‘I paid US$500 for it and it's a bargain. You couldn't afford a new water cannon that will do what this little baby can do,’ he added.

  ‘How confident are you that you can get any necessary spares?’ asked Kev.

  ‘This is all basic engineering and Moffat & Co. are still in business. I reckon some of their engineers will be queuing up to help refurbish her,’ he concluded.

  The electrician was working his lunch break and there were few people around. He stepped onto Marco’s catamaran, the Blizbanci, and walked across the rear deck towards the main cabin. He called out to the mate. The mate shouted something back and then appeared halfway down the stairs from the bridge.

  ‘Yer, what you want?’ he asked.

  ‘I've got some spare batteries,’ he said. ‘May as well replace the batteries in the smoke alarms,’ he volunteered.

  The mate grunted something and returned to the bridge. With an economy of effort, the electrician placed his work bag on the saloon table, opened it and revealed new smoke alarms. He picked one up and with a half twist removed the outer cap. Inside he could see the complex array of electronics and the coloured plastic strip across the battery termina
ls that prevented any electrical contact being made. He tugged the strip free and a small red light glowed; it was active. He reached up to the old alarm, twisted off the cover and screwed it onto the new device. He turned it over in his hands and ripped off the protective strip to reveal the two-sided tape that would stick it in place. He placed it carefully on the table. He then reached into his bag and selected a broad-bladed screwdriver, reached up and levered the body of the old smoke alarm off the ceiling. He dropped it into his work bag and stuck the new one in the same place. No one would ever guess it was a new device. No one would guess it was more than just a smoke alarm.

  The electrician strolled from the Blizbanci to the Sultano and made his way to the dining room and lounge area. With a long straight edge and measuring tape he carefully marked the position of two more smoke alarms, armed them and stuck them to the ceiling. One was directly above the dining table and one above the array of easy chairs in the lounge area. As he packed his bag he smiled. He had earned as much in the last fifteen minutes as he would for the rest of the week.

  Chapter 14

  Getting ready for salvage

  Less than thirty-six hours after receiving confirmation of their contract Jack followed Will and Sandro into the water above the Pharmaco. As he stepped off the back of the catamaran Jack expected no horrors, just the painstaking work of making the sailboat ready for salvage. The viz was excellent and he could see the Pharmaco clearly just a few metres below him. There was no current but the sailboat wasn't lying as he remembered. He guessed that the police or coast guard had moved it to release the body that was trapped. He just hoped they hadn't caused more damage to the hull. Their whole strategy depended on minimal damage to it.

  From what Jack and Sandro had seen of the damage, they believed sheets of ArmourTech would be just the hull patch they needed. The thin plastic laminated sheets, referred to as ArmaghTech, had been developed in Armagh, Northern Ireland during the “Troubles”. Originally the clear, adhesive sheets of plastic were stuck onto windows to stop flying glass if an IRA bomb went off or if gunfire erupted. It was extremely simple and extremely effective. Later it was refined and sold as a security device. When stuck onto a window you could hit the sheet of glass with a hammer and although the glass would break the plastic and adhesive backing would hold it all together. Jack had seen a demonstration of the plastic laminate in the Marine Engineering Department at the University of Portsmouth whilst he and Sandro were completing their master’s course. The salesman had put all his effort into swinging the sledge hammer. It merely created a misty spot on the glass, deformed the plastic sheet for a moment, then simply bounced off. The only way a burglar could get through the window would be to knock out the entire window frame. Since windows open outwards the task of breaking in was possible but simply unrealistic. It was the same salesman who told his audience that the company had developed a laminated, adhesive sheet that could be fixed to wooden, plastic or metal hulls of boats and applied under water! He had shown them a video of a diver peeling off a protective layer from a sheet of ArmourTech and with a hand roller sticking it over a gaping hole in the hull of a sailboat. He had explained the only trick was to ensure there were no wrinkles and no air bubbles between the plastic and the hull as the adhesive surface was rolled firmly in place. With an overlap of at least twenty-five millimetres onto an undamaged section of hull, he claimed the sheet was as strong as the material it was patching. Jack and Sandro had ordered six sheets, each one metre square. It was expensive stuff but better to have a couple of sheets left over than one sheet short.

  Jack, Sandro and Will, a torch strapped to one forearm and a mesh bag in the other hand, slipped through the main hatch and into the sailboat. It was much as Jack remembered it. The viz was better but debris littered the place. There was a thick carpet of floating rubbish above him with other stuff suspended in the water. He would have to compare their photos with those the police had taken but he reckoned there was more debris than before. He reckoned every cupboard had been opened and what was inside was now floating around him. They had agreed that Jack would start in the for'ard cabin, Sandro and Will in the two rear cabins. Anything that could be washed out of the boat or that could clog the water pump was stuffed into mesh bags. It didn't take long to realise there was relatively little in the three cabins. It looked like all the personal possessions had been collected by the police, presumably to be returned to their next of kin. The debris they collected was all transferred into two bags and secured in the starboard rear cabin. The main area, galley, chart table and dining area took a lot longer. The remains of food and paper had turned to mush and clouded the water when they tried to clear it up.

  At the end of the first dive they were confident that anything that could foul the water pump and hinder the re-flotation of the Pharmaco had been bagged or secured. Will volunteered to release the remaining anchor chain and disconnect it. They didn't want to try and raise the boat with the anchor chain still out!

  Chapter 15

  Raising the Pharmaco

  Perhaps Jack and Sandro shouldn't have been surprised by the variety of contacts Marco possessed, but they were. With his help it hadn’t taken long to trace and hire six large open lifting bags and four even bigger closed bags with pressure release valves. Marco had a couple of compressors and Kev had arranged all the kit on the rear deck of the catamaran. They were ready for the next phase of the salvage operation. They had agreed that Jack and Sandro would work together to attach a lifting bag to each of the six cleats that ran along the sides of the Pharmaco. It was merely a case of threading the reinforced handles of the lifting bags through the cleats, looping them back over the wings of the cleats and inflating them! The cleats were the strong points of the sailboat; the weakest points were Jack and Sandro! The problem was that although the lifting bags were rolled tight each of them was bulky, heavy and had air trapped inside. It would be trial and error to determine how much weight they would need to attach to an air bag so it would just sink. Once they had a bag in place Will could carefully release just enough air into the bag from a spare tank to stabilize it. He would also adjust the position of the bags to ensure maximum buoyancy.

  Jack took a giant stride off the back of the catamaran into the welcoming water. He had been sitting in the full wetsuit for several minutes and starting to get hot. It felt good to be in the water, working, and he was confident they could raise the boat. He gave a gentle kick with his fins and turned to watch Sandro and then Will step off the back of the boat, signal AOK and fin towards him. Kev had lowered the first of the lifting bags from the hoist and dropped it down to fifteen metres. They rendezvoused at the line and scanned the area around them as they drifted gently downwards to the lifting bag. Marco had positioned the stern of the catamaran almost over the Pharmaco with almost sixty metres of chain out. Once all the lifting bags were in place he would winch in twenty or thirty metres of chain to provide a safety margin. With Jack holding the lifting bag in one hand, Sandro unclipped it and together they manoeuvred it to the mid-section cleat on the starboard side of the boat. The viz was excellent and there was no current. The water softened the lines of the boat and she looked almost serene. Despite the bulk of the lifting bag it was easy to slip the handles through and around the cleat. The only awkward part was unfolding the heavy material so that Will could get the tank of compressed air underneath. Will pressed the diaphragm and bubbles of air exploded from the mouth-piece and into the open mouth of the bag. Immediately, like a huge ice cream cone, the bag took shape. It took less than thirty minutes to have all six lifting bags taut and ready for filling.

  Days ago, they had discussed the procedure that was likely to deliver best results. In the end they decided that the three of them, Jack, Sandro and Will, would each carry a spare tank, complete with regulator – the reg – and release a timed amount of air into one of the lifting bags via the reg. With three identical tanks, three identical regs and voice coordination between them, it was the best the
y could do. They simply didn't have the kit needed to pump precise amounts of air into each of the six lifting bags. They would start with five second bursts into the three bags on the starboard side, then alternate, port side and starboard, releasing a similar amount of air into the bags.

  'OK everyone, are you ready? After three – one, two, three – go,' instructed Jack as he pressed his thumb onto the rubber diaphragm and air burst from the reg and into the lifting bag. He could feel the bag straining to be free.

  As soon as he started the burst of air he began slowly counting off the seconds:

  'One and two and three and four and five, stop!' he shouted.

  Jack hung in the water and scanned the scene. Sandro was off to his left and Will to his right. He could see the three lifting bags were correctly deployed. Despite the explosion of air they had delivered, the bags didn't appear to have much air in them.

  'Let’s do the port side,' Jack directed. 'Another five second burst when everyone is ready,' he added.

  For the next fifteen minutes they moved from one side of the sailboat to the other. The bags got bigger, the reinforced straps became like bow strings but the sailboat stayed in place.

  'Sandro, how much air have you got in the tank?' Jack asked.